


As Time Goes On

by Quasar



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Episode Fix-it, Episode: s08e12 As Time Goes By, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-18
Updated: 2015-04-18
Packaged: 2018-03-23 12:13:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3767776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quasar/pseuds/Quasar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Naomi's brainwashing schedule were moved up, allowing Castiel to visit (and attack) the Winchesters a few weeks sooner?</p>
            </blockquote>





	As Time Goes On

"We're Winchesters. As long as we're alive, there's always hope."

Henry fumbled the key into Sam's hand and felt the world go gray around him. Gray, but not black. He was going to take a while to finish dying, he knew, and he was sorry for it as Sam's arms tightened convulsively around him. Long minutes of decline would be hard on the boys. His grandsons. Chronologically, they were close to his age - Dean was probably a year or two older, and as intimidating in his own way as any Elder of the Letters. But a part of Henry insisted they were still boys.

"Careful, Sam. Behind you," said Dean's voice suddenly. There was a rustle of movement and the _shunk_ of a machete: Abaddon being chopped into pieces. 

Henry was satisfied to think of the demon's fate and to know that she wouldn't be hurting his family, but glad he wouldn't have to see what was happening to Josie's body. He stopped trying to pry his eyelids open and instead leaned back against Sam's solid bulk. Sam was whispering something behind and above him, something apparently not meant for Henry's ears so it couldn't be very important.

He was thinking of little Johnny, waiting on his bed for a father who would never return. He could almost hear the tinny music box, winding down. The sounds of the world around him were faint by comparison: a soft flapping noise, a gasp from Sam, and very distantly, Dean saying, "Cas. Can you help him?"

And then the pain retreated and Henry caught his breath, opening his eyes to find the world returned to vivid color and sound. A man in a trenchcoat was bending over him, one hand just lifting away from his head.

Sam gave a little huff, like a laugh that wanted to be a sob or maybe the other way around. "Thanks, Cas," he said, and then instead of holding Henry close he was helping him sit up.

"It's good to see you, man, how you doing?" said Dean, in a different tone than Henry had heard from him. Wary, yet... hopeful?

"I'm fine. Hello, Dean. Sam." The trenchcoated man had an unexpectedly deep, gravelly voice.

Sam climbed to his feet and pulled Henry up with him. "Cas. I'm glad you came. I know you, um, you've been really busy lately. I wasn't sure if we should bother you, or if you could even answer."

"You know I always answer when I can." The stranger's eyes drifted to Henry, narrowed assessingly.

Henry shot his cuffs, noting with distaste the bloodstain ruining his shirt - but behind it, his skin was whole and not even tender. "I beg your pardon. I don't believe we've been introduced." He frowned at his grandsons, who had apparently been raised in a barn because their father hadn't had a proper role model himself.

Sam grimaced apologetically. "Henry, this is our friend Castiel. Cas, this is our grandfather, Henry Winchester."

"Cas is an angel," Dean supplied, with an odd mixture of pride and frustration. In the three days that he'd known his grandsons, the only time Henry had heard such complex emotion in Dean's voice had been when he spoke about his father. Mostly, Dean seemed to be angry at everything, but not now, not at this Castiel.

"An angel," Henry murmured, stunned. "An angel is... your friend?" He had always read that angels very rarely came to Earth. Suddenly the collection of feathers in the trunk of the car made much more sense. 

"Yeah, for years now," said Sam, but his grin at the angel was somewhat shadowed.

"It's an honor, sir." Henry extended his hand. "Thank you for healing me."

Castiel hesitated for a long moment, but when he reached out his grip was firm, warm, normal-seeming. "You are out of your time."

"You could take me back," Henry realized. "Back to my own time. And then my boy wouldn't have to -"

"Uh, guys?" Sam interrupted diffidently. "Maybe we should discuss this without, you know, an eavesdropper?" He swept a hand at the dismembered demon littering the floor. Both of her hands were still attempting to crawl toward each other. Josie's beautiful eyes blinked; she was looking at the angel.

Castiel crouched to study her, his head tilted to one side. He placed a hand on her forehead, then drew it back sharply, his eyes going wide. "This is a Knight of Hell. They were believed to be extinct."

"Yeah, we know." Dean kicked one of the hands out of the way and bent to chop off one foot. "That's why she's in pieces. Best we could do, without an archangel to gank her for us. You know where we could find one of those?"

Henry watched with interest, but the angel merely stood and gave Dean an exasperated look.

Dean returned a cheeky grin and hacked at the other leg. "Sam, there's a warded box in the trunk. Head should fit in there."

"Okay, I'll take care of it." Sam bent and cautiously picked up Josie's - Abaddon's - head, gripping it by the hair and keeping well away from the teeth.

"And bring back some plastic and tape while you're at it. And sharpies. And -"

"I got it, Dean."

As soon as Sam and the demon were out of hearing range, Dean turned to Henry. "We can't send you back. You can't change history."

"I realize time is delicate, Dean, but it can be done. It has been done."

"Not in our family. Not for the Winchesters."

"Dean is correct," said Castiel solemnly. "You would not be permitted to change John Winchester's timeline. If I took you back, you would likely be killed very soon afterward."

"Not _permitted_?" Henry demanded. "Not permitted by whom?"

Dean spread his gory hands. "Angels, demons. Take your pick. Winchesters have a _destiny_ , and there's a lot of powerful creatures out there with a stake in making sure it happens like it's supposed to. Go back to fifty-eight, and they're still writing all the rules. Nowadays, though, we've beaten fate - literally - and all bets are off. So you're better off staying here and moving forward, believe me."

Henry shook his head in bewilderment. "Is this about what you said earlier, in the store? About... the Apocalypse?"

"That's right. And, newsflash, the angels wanted it to happen just as much as the demons did."

"Michael wanted it," Castiel corrected. "And he was in command. Most of us were kept in the dark about the true purpose of our orders."

Dean's scowl softened. "I know that, Cas. But you - they - the angels still followed those orders. So... there you got it, Henry. The hosts of Heaven and the legions of Hell, all determined you're not going to get to raise your little boy. Still want to go back and face all that?"

Henry stared, appalled, from his grandson to the angel that was not at all what he had expected, even having read the descriptions in the chronicles. "What kind of a hunter are you? And... what kind of angel?"

"The kind that _stopped_ the Apocalypse. Me, and Sam, and Cas, we did it together. But not until after it got started. I'm sorry, man, you're not going to be able to keep that from happening. Least we managed to turn it right in the end."

Castiel turned his head, slowly, to look at Dean. His face was almost expressionless, except for something deep in the eyes. Henry was beginning to suspect why Dean was so much more animated with the angel present, yet he also found that look disturbing for some reason.

He scrubbed at his face, realizing too late that he had blood on his hand and had probably just smeared it everywhere. He pulled out his handkerchief to wipe it away. "You're certain? I really can't go back?"

"You can go back, but you can't bring about any real change," said Castiel firmly. "I'm certain of that."

Sam heard the last of this as he returned, a roll of plastic over one shoulder and a collection of other supplies in the crook of his elbow. "Just a second, Cas. Can you tell if Henry has an inscription on his heart?"

"A what on my heart?" Henry demanded.

Sam turned to him. "Mom and Dad were soulmates, brought together by a Cupid's spell. That's why Dad was so set on revenge after she died. It was all part of a plan to unite the Winchester and Campbell bloodlines - the brains and the brawn. Maybe you know enough about your family tree to realize it's been pretty much one kid per generation? Dean and I are the first pair of brothers in the family for... how long, Cas?"

"Centuries," said the angel. "Those times when there was more than one child in a generation, only one would survive to carry the line ahead."

"Right. So, Cas, can you tell us if Henry's marriage was enforced by a Cupid, too?"

Henry was shaking his head even as Castiel stepped forward and pressed a hand to his chest. "No, it isn't like that. Millie's a good woman and I'm very fond of her, but it was never a great passion between us."

"He's correct," the angel confirmed. "Apparently it didn't matter exactly who John's mother was, just that he was born a Winchester. And possibly he needed to be born at a specific time."

Henry frowned, remembering the cascade of circumstances that had pushed him into marrying Millie before either of them were quite ready. Had all of that been arranged? By _angels_? Even without a Cupid's direct influence on his emotions, he felt soundly manipulated.

"Good. That's good," said Sam. "That means it probably won't drive Henry crazy to stay in this time."

"Why will none of you understand?" Henry bit out. "It isn't my wife I'm concerned about, it's my son. I abandoned him!"

"It's too late to change that," said Castiel. "John Winchester has lived his life, and it was far more closely controlled than your own. He's in Heaven now, with his wife and his mother."

Henry faltered. "You're certain of that?"

"Quite certain about John and Mary; I've visited them there. As for your wife, I can check to confirm it, if you wish."

"Hold on, Cas." Dean straightened up from where he'd been taping pieces of demon in plastic and drawing sigils over each segment. "I thought you said you couldn't go back to Heaven. Is it even safe for you up there?"

The angel stilled, and his face went curiously blank, his eyes dull. In a soft monotone he replied, "Of course, Dean. Perfectly safe."

Dean turned to exchange a worried look with Sam. Henry could see both their faces and he realized something was wrong. Something was wrong with the angel that couldn't - or maybe could - visit Heaven. Why did he get the sense that _could_ was somehow a worse answer than _couldn't_?

"Well, great!" said Dean in overly hearty tones. "Glad to hear everything's okay, man." He kept his face turned away from the angel, scowling fiercely as he bent to work on the demon some more.

Castiel was looking directly at Sam, and Henry realized his grandson was growing more tense by the second. Then the angel's eyes slid back to Dean, and suddenly a silver blade appeared in his hand, driving directly at Dean's unprotected back.

" _Dean!_ " Sam barked, and tackled his brother out of the way. 

They both rolled to their feet in an instant, Dean producing the demon-killing knife. Sam pulled out a silver blade of his own just like the one the angel held. He stepped forward, but Castiel gestured with his free hand and Sam went flying. The blade skittered across the floor.

Dean's eyes were huge, rimmed with white. "Cas, what are you doing?"

The angel stalked toward him, silver blade raised high.

Dean didn't retreat, but held his useless knife low and steady. "Cas, it's me. Whatever's got hold of you, you've got to fight it. Come on, man! It's me!"

Henry, his heart racing, forced his mind back to the exams he had so recently taken. " _Pizin noco iad!_ " he yelled.

Castiel fell to the ground, writhing and groaning.

Dean stared at his grandfather. "Wait, that spell, was that -"

"It's the same one Leah Gideon used," Sam gasped, lurching to his feet.

Henry turned to him. "Sam, do you have any more angel feathers? From Castiel, specifically?"

"Yeah, we have a -"

"Get one. Now!"

Sam looked at his brother, then ran out the door. Dean was retrieving the blade Sam had dropped. Castiel's own blade had disappeared.

"Dean, that pen you were using, where is it?"

Dean pointed, and Henry snatched up the marker. Then he looked at the angel and hesitated - not just at the danger of approaching such a powerful being, but at the sheer blasphemy of what he was contemplating. But Castiel's grunts and pained twitches were already subsiding, and soon the danger would very much outweigh any other concern. So Henry gritted his teeth, darted in, and grabbed the angel by the chin as he drew two sigils on Castiel's forehead.

"What does that do?" Dean demanded. He was holding the angelic blade now, but kept it pointed away from the angel.

"One binds his wings so he can't teleport. The other slows and weakens him." Henry stepped back and watched the angel gasping in a curled ball on the floor. "But it won't last long. I expect he can dissolve the ink."

"If he tries. He was already moving slow, or Sam couldn't have pushed me away. Cas is the best knife fighter I've ever seen, even up against other angels."

Henry glanced up and saw that Dean was clearly more worried _for_ the angel than frightened _of_ him. That didn't seem a particularly safe attitude for his grandson to have. "You can't rely on his cooperation, Dean. If he's really being controlled by something..."

"Naomi," gasped the angel.

"What? Cas, what?"

Castiel was clutching his head in his hands. "Naomi, what have you done to me?"

"Who's Naomi?"

Sam came pelting back holding a black feather with iridescent blue-green edges.

Henry grabbed it. "Matches!" he demanded.

Dean produced a lighter, then pulled it back. "Wait, this won't hurt him, will it?"

Henry shook his head and held out the feather, gesturing to Dean urgently to set it alight. With a short incantation, he blew the acrid smoke into Castiel's face.

The angel's eyes rolled up and he went limp.

"Is he okay?" Dean demanded.

"He's asleep. I don't know how long it will last. We have to get out of here, now!" Henry got out in a rush.

"He's right, Dean. Whoever was controlling him -"

"Naomi," said Dean grimly.

"She, or they, will come after him," Sam finished. He bent to lift Castiel's shoulders from the floor.

"Hurry!" Henry demanded, trying to collect everything important they had dropped.

Sam ended up carrying the angel over one shoulder. Dean and Henry carried various demon parts, but at least Henry managed to grab the pieces that had already been wrapped in plastic. At the last moment he remembered the hand Dean had kicked into a corner, and detoured to snatch it up. The long red nails clawed at him all the way out to the car. The demon went in the trunk and the angel in the back seat, with Sam awkwardly folded in next to him.

* * *

"Where are we going?" Dean demanded as the car roared away from the warehouse.

Henry shook his head grimly. "Just keep moving. It will make us harder to track."

"Sam and I are warded against angels. The _car_ is warded against angels, and also demons and other spirits."

"What kind of hunters _are_ you?" Henry said again, but in a bewildered murmur this time.

"I know where we can go - I have coordinates." Sam shifted Castiel around so he could reach his pocket. "Larry wrote them down. He said it was the safest place in the world. I think it's not far."

"I'll look it up - do we have a map?" Henry reached for the glove compartment.

"No, don't worry, I can bring it up on my phone." Sam tapped his thumbs quickly over the small, flat device that Henry had first taken for a walkie-talkie.

"What sort of phone is that?" Henry demanded, craning over the seat.

Dean laughed. "It's a computer, man. Would have filled a building back in your day."

" _That_ is a..." Henry shook his head.

"Depending how you count, there are at least four computers in this car right now," said Sam. "Dean, go north on 281."

Dean took a left at the next stop, headed for the highway. "Just give me the damn phone, I'll read the directions myself."

"No way. We are not going to model distracted driving for our grandfather. Henry, you should really put on your seatbelt - there are laws about that now."

Dean groaned, half-humorous. "Sam, you and me are the worst kind of role models. Just look what we did to Cas."

"What did happen to Castiel?" Henry asked, trying to divert them away from treating him like a small child. Or a younger brother.

"He rebelled against Heaven for us," Dean said shortly.

"For Dean, really," said Sam.

"To help us stop the Apocalypse," Dean insisted. "And since then, a lot of other stuff went down. Cas isn't in so good with Heaven - hasn't been in a while, but just lately he's been sort of..."

"Off," said Sam.

Henry turned sideways so he could study both of them, and the angel slumped again Sam's shoulder. "So this is new, Castiel being controlled by something?"

"It's gotta be Heaven," said Dean. "Something or someone up in Heaven, trying to brainwash him. Probably this Naomi chick he was talking about."

"I would think if a seraph is being controlled, it would have to be by an archangel." Henry frowned at Castiel. "He is a seraph, correct?"

"Yeah, that's right," said Sam, "but the archangels are gone. Raphael and Gabriel are dead, and Michael and Lucifer are locked in the Cage in Hell."

Henry gaped. 

"That's how we stopped the Apocalypse," Sam added, quiet and grim.

"Enough with the history lesson," Dean growled harshly, hands white-knuckled on the steering wheel. "Let's worry about Cas just now."

"Fine, so... you're right, Henry, whatever's controlling him is new. We only started suspecting it a few weeks ago."

Dean shook his head. "No, Sam, I told you, something's been not-right with him ever since we got back from Purgatory."

"You were in _Purgatory?_ " Henry gasped. He was really finding he needed to reconsider the first impression he had gained of his grandsons. They were clearly far more than mere hunters.

"Not me," said Sam. "But Dean and Cas were stuck there for about a year."

"Longer than that, for Cas. I got out through a portal, he was still stuck, and then a couple months later he was out and we don't know how, and he's been weird ever since."

"How did you end up in Purgatory in the first place?" Henry asked plaintively.

"Long story, man. Way too long," Dean concluded.

"We've been around the block a few times," Sam put in. "I mean, I didn't go to Purgatory, but we've all been to Heaven. And Hell. We've all died, at least twice for each of us."

"At least three times," said Dean in a strange almost-proud tone. "That was you. Me, I'm way ahead in the dying game."

"The Mystery Spot doesn't count," Sam objected sourly.

Henry was having trouble with this. "You're... you two are..."

"We're the Winchesters," said Dean. "We break all the rules."

"And now there's another Winchester working with us," Sam added. "Back from the brink of death, no less."

"Whoever's in charge upstairs must be shitting themselves," said Dean with a sort of dark satisfaction.

"I sure as hell hope so. Take the next left, Dean. We're almost there."

* * *

_There_ turned out to be a door recessed into a hill, with concrete columns and narrow windows rising above. Dean pulled the car in front of the door, and they all looked at it.

"Sam, you have the puzzle box?" Henry asked softly.

"Uh, yeah." Once more, Sam shifted the angel slumped against him so he could pass the box back to Henry.

"You guys go in," Dean said. "See if there's a good place in there to, uh..."

"We need a room that can be thoroughly warded," said Henry firmly. "I know you have plenty of paint. We will need many complex sigils to interrogate an angel."

"We're not torturing him," Dean growled.

"Of course not, Dean!" Sam protested.

"Still, it will take some time to figure out what's wrong with him, and whether we can reverse it. Time and research. I wasn't even initiated yet," Henry added ruefully. "I was only at the first level."

"Larry Ganem said this place was some kind of huge repository of information," Sam put in. "Whatever we need, I bet it's in there."

Dean nodded. "Okay, so you two go in, check it out. I'll stay with Cas inside the car's warding."

Sam tipped the angel against the opposite door of the car. "Be careful, Dean. You know how fast he is."

"Henry said those sigils on his forehead will slow him down, keep him from zapping out of here. I got more feathers, I got my lighter -"

"You remember the incantation?" Henry asked in surprise.

"I may be a mouth-breather but I'm not stupid, okay? You guys go find us a place to hunker down."

They all got out of the car, Dean to get supplies from the trunk while Sam and Henry approached the door. Henry had just figured out how to pull the key out of the puzzle box when they heard a startled exclamation from Dean. "What?" Sam asked at once.

"Goddamn Abaddon. One of her hands was unwrapped, and she's been trying to tear everything apart in here." Dean stabbed downward fiercely with the demon-killing knife, then tossed them a paint canister and a flashlight in quick succession. "You go on, I got this."

Henry let Sam take the flashlight, since he had the key. The air inside was stale but not foul. They went in and then down a flight of metal steps, peering around a cavernous space in the darkness. Sam found some circuit breakers and threw the switches. Lights came up, and fans started to move the air.

Henry caught his breath. "Oh! I know what this is. I've heard of this place. Only rumors, of course, but I would have been allowed to visit here after my initiation." He saw a room lined with books and headed for the catalog.

"Henry. We need to find a wardable room."

"This is all warded, don't you see!" Henry pointed at the sigils worked into the decorations on the floor, on the ceiling, on every door.

"It's not specific enough for an angel on the run from Heaven. We need to check out the other rooms, quickly!"

"But I know exactly what book we need..."

"Explore now. Read later." Sam came across as the quiet brother for the most part, but he could be very forceful when he wanted. Henry found himself complying, and they swept through one room after another. Command center, utility room, laboratory, workshop, kitchen, dorm rooms, showers...

"How about here?" Sam suggested. It was the smallest of several bathrooms they had found, with only one toilet, a sink, and a narrow shower stall. The fan vent had sigils incorporated in the grate. The walls and floor were tiled, easy to paint. 

"There are holes in the walls for the pipes to go through," Henry pointed out.

"Dammit. Can we ward the pipes?"

"We need a room with one entrance only. Perhaps a storeroom? We'll keep looking." Henry led his grandson further into the building. And at the back of a file room, they found a hidden door. "Yes. Here. It has half the wards we need already, and the rest will be easy to add." The devil's trap wouldn't be of much use, but the chair bolted to the floor would.

"Okay." Sam handed over the paint canister. "You get started. Dean and I'll bring Cas in."

"And Abaddon's hands," Henry added. "Just the hands. The rest should be safe in the car for a while." He peered at the label on the can.

"Uh, they had spray paint in your day, right?" Sam said uncertainly.

"Of course. Not precisely like this. It's pressurized, yes?"

"Right." Sam took the can to demonstrate. "Shake the can, aim it, press down on the top to spray." With precision, he drew a symbol Henry had never seen on the wall. "You'll get the hang of it."

Henry painted Sam's symbol along with every angel-warding sigil he knew on each wall, the floor, and the ceiling (with difficulty, much can-shaking, and quite a lot of paint misted in his face). That done, he checked the cabinet standing to the side of the room and found an array of unpleasant devices for inflicting pain - but there were also quite a few chains and manacles and other forms of restraint. Most were inscribed with wards against demons or spirits, but there was one pair of handcuffs with angel warding already engraved into them.

Sam and Dean carried Castiel in between them and propped him in the chair. Dean had a split lip and a bloody nose but seemed otherwise all right. "Had to burn another feather," he reported grimly.

"Why do you have so many? I thought they were quite rare." Henry pulled the angel's limp arms behind him and threaded the cuffs through a convenient bar on the back of the chair.

"Well, uh, we've known Cas for a while," Sam said carefully. "He does drop a feather now and then. But most of them are from a couple years ago when he sort of, uh..."

"Disintegrated," Dean said at the same moment Sam said "Dissolved."

"What can _dissolve_ a seraph?" Henry asked in horror.

Sam grimaced. "Cas was, sort of, possessed by something - things - he couldn't handle. He started to, um, kind of melt, and the creatures possessing him headed for a reservoir so they could get into the water supply before he broke down completely."

"He did it on purpose, Sam," Dean growled. "Bobby thought so too. Making his vessel fail like that, faster than they expected, was the only way he could keep the Leviathans from killing us right there."

"But this vessel is human," Henry objected. "Where did the feathers come from? Don't they normally burn up when an angel dies?"

"We picked them up from the path to the reservoir," Sam told him. "See, the Leviathans were possessing _Cas_ , not just his vessel."

"And then there were angel-dissolving monsters inside the water supply?" Henry was appalled. First the Apocalypse and now this - apparently his grandsons had very eventful lives.

"Yeah, okay, enough backstory," Dean grumbled. "I told you, the whole thing's too complicated to explain right now. First we gotta make sure this place is safe so Naomi can't get to him."

"Yeah, I know a couple more sigils we can add to the walls," said Sam, retrieving the paint can Henry had set down. "Is that chair going to hold him?"

"The cuffs are spelled," said Henry. "There might be some more symbols we can draw on his skin, but I'll need to check the library for that."

"Great," Dean scoffed. "Nerds and their books. Just don't get distracted by the shiny, okay? We need to be ready when he wakes up."

Henry glowered. "I am capable of focusing my attention. You, on the other hand, appear to have problems with -"

"Hey, hey. Guys!" Sam lifted his hands in a T shape, a reference that Henry at least understood. "All on the same side here, remember? So - truce, okay? Henry, please look up those symbols as quickly as you can. Dean, you want to finish up the painting in here? I'll go see if I can find some warded boxes for Abaddon's, um, parts."

Henry noted that Sam didn't try to give his brother a direct order, even when his suggestions were perfectly sensible. Also that Sam didn't suggest Dean should leave Castiel's side. He snorted and headed towards the library. And he very carefully resisted the temptation to look up anything other than the topic at hand.

* * *

Henry found a book of Enochian sigils, scribbled some quick notes, then hurried back to the file room and drew more symbols on Castiel's cheeks, throat, and the back of his neck. It was strange to be loosening the angel's tie and collar as if he were an ordinary man. Dean hovered anxiously, and soon Sam came in as well, drying his hands from where he had washed off demon blood. 

"Is that going to work?" Dean demanded, pointing at the symbols.

"I don't know," Henry admitted. "Since we're not sure exactly what's controlling him or how, I just can't be certain. I think this will reduce outside influences, at least."

Sam said slowly, "A few weeks ago... we went to rescue an angel who was being imprisoned and interrogated by a bunch of demons. They had a lot of these same wards up -" He gestured at the walls. "Which was why Cas couldn't just go in himself. Anyway, the interrogator had a whole apparatus clamped onto the angel's head, and he was poking these long thin probes right into his skull."

"Shut _up_ , Sam, we're not doing any of that shit to Cas. C'mon, you heard Alfie screaming while we were on the way in. You saw how Cas reacted! You really think we can do that to him?"

"That's not what I'm saying, Dean."

"Then what _are_ you saying? Spit it out."

"Look, Alfie - Samandriel - regressed to talking in Enochian, right?"

"Yeah, Cas said something about... accessing his basic angel programming."

"Right, so here's the point. The angel is not the vessel, but some of the, um, the anatomy of the angel's true form is lined up inside of the vessel."

Henry nodded slowly. "So the part of the angel that does the thinking is located within the brain of the vessel."

"Right. And we know stabbing an angel in the chest or neck is fatal, with the right kind of weapon. Same weapon in the arm or leg is just an annoying injury. So there are these... analogous structures, right?"

Dean blew out a breath. "Fine. How does that help us keep Cas from being controlled? Especially since we're _not_ going to stab him in the brain?"

"It's a valuable insight," Henry insisted. "Correct actions can only proceed from correct understanding."

Dean rolled his eyes.

Henry pretended not to notice. "What happened to the angel you rescued? Would he be able to help us now?"

Sam winced. "We got him out, but, uh..."

"Cas stabbed him right after," said Dean flatly. "We didn't see it happen, but Cas' story just didn't add up."

Henry flinched at the thought of one angel killing another. But Dean had already mentioned something of the sort in relation to Castiel's fighting skills. Was this what the world had come to in half a century? In the time after the Apocalypse?

"So that's when we were really sure something was wrong with him." Sam's shoulders slumped. "We've had to kill other angels before, usually in self defense, but Samandriel was one of the good guys. He helped us out of a dangerous situation."

"His vessel was a fuckin' teenager," Dean spat. "The whole thing just blows. All for nothing." He wiped a hand over his face.

Castiel's head shifted, and they all went still. Then, with a gasp, the angel sat up and opened his eyes, flicking them swiftly around the room. "Dean."

"I'm right here, Cas." Dean moved forward, and Sam caught at his shoulder.

"It's not safe. These wards -" Castiel shook his head sharply. "It's not enough. She can see - Dean, she can see what I see. She can hear -"

"Shit. Even right now?"

Castiel squeezed his eyes shut. "Get away from me, Dean. Sam, get him out of here!"

Sam hauled his brother back, but not all the way to the door. Henry stepped forward and tugged the angel's loosened tie free, then wrapped it quickly around his head, over his eyes.

"Not enough," Castiel muttered. "Not safe." 

"We need more than just cloth," Henry said. "A piece of sheet metal, maybe? Or a welding helmet?"

Sam nodded quickly. "Would tinfoil be enough? I saw some in the kitchen."

"Go get it. No, wait! Don't open the door." Henry looked from the angel to the wards on the door, biting his lip in consternation.

Dean pushed Sam off him and went to the cabinet, their only resource. 

Castiel's head was hanging down, and he rocked the chair against its bolts. "No, no, no..." he whimpered, wrenching at the cuffs. "What are you doing to me? No -" And then he threw his head back and screamed.

"Jesus!" Sam gasped, reaching forward reflexively only to stop himself. "How is she affecting him at a distance, through all these wards?"

Dean spun away from the cabinet, pulling another feather out of his pocket. 

"Wait!" Henry gasped, hurrying to the cabinet himself. Long, thin probes, Sam had said. He pulled out a drawer he had checked earlier and removed two wicked skewers.

"Henry, what are you doing?" said Sam forebodingly, his voice almost lost under the screams which were rising to a high-pitched whine piercing right through their skulls.

With eyes watering Henry stepped behind the angel and quickly, before Dean could intervene, drove the skewers in through Castiel's ears.

The angel's scream and the accompanying high whine cut off abruptly, and he slumped down in the chair with the two skewer handles protruding from either side of his head.

"What the hell did you do to him?" Dean demanded, pulling Henry away and looking ready to throttle him.

"Thank you," said Castiel softly.

Dean froze and turned to look at the angel, releasing Henry.

Castiel lifted his head. "Sam - was that Sam? Or Henry. That was very astute."

"Cas," Dean murmured.

"I don't think he can hear us, Dean."

"I pierced his eardrums," said Henry, straightening his jacket. "If the structures are analogous -"

"Then you cut him off from Angel Radio," Sam concluded. "And maybe from whatever -"

"The connection is broken," said Castiel over Sam's speculation. "It's safe now. Will you uncover my eyes?"

The brothers exchanged glances.

"It could be a trick?" Henry suggested.

Dean shook his head. "We can tell. We'll know when he's lying, if we can see his eyes."

"It's true," Sam admitted. "Cas is a terrible liar."

Dean reached out to pull the tie from Castiel's head, leaving his hair even more disordered. He circled around to the front of the chair.

"Dean," the angel sighed. "Are you all right?"

Dean nodded grimly. "Are you?"

"I am now. But you... I hit you. I tried to stab you."

"I'm okay," Dean enunciated. "I'm fine."

"Naomi wanted me to kill you. She ordered me... she made me practice, Dean. She made me kill you over and over again."

"What the hell?" Dean muttered. 

"They were only simulacra, I knew that, but they had your face, your voice - and they begged me. And I killed them. Over and over. Until I could do it without hesitating."

"Cas!" Dean grabbed the angel by the shoulders and shook him sharply. "I'm right here, buddy, I'm fine. You didn't kill me."

But Castiel was looking right past Dean at some terrifying memory.

Sam grabbed up the notebook and pen Henry had brought from the library and scribbled emphatically. Then he thrust the notebook at Castiel. It said: _You DID hesitate. You made sure I was watching before you moved. I KNOW you were fighting her. KEEP FIGHTING!_

Castiel focused on the words and drew a tremulous breath. "Yes. You're right. Thank you, Sam. Are you all right? I threw you..."

Sam patted the air soothingly, then stepped around Dean to pat Castiel's back as well.

Castiel looked around the room. "What is this place? How long have I been here?" Then he shook his head. "No, never mind, I don't need to know that. Don't release me. I'm not certain if this will last, how long I will be free of her control." His eyes went to Dean again. "You were right, Dean. It was angels who got me out of Purgatory. Angels under Naomi's command, and she's been controlling me ever since. Or... trying to. I'm not certain what she did to me, what she took from me. I think it took her a while to, to establish full control."

Sam was writing again. He held up a page that said: _She was controlling you here, a minute ago, in this room?_

Castiel nodded. "It was... very strange. I would be on Earth, speaking to you, and then a moment later I would flash on a location in Heaven, with Naomi talking to me. And then back to Earth, and a few seconds had passed but you never reacted as if I had gone anywhere. And I couldn't... quite... remember... I don't know what she did. There was a chair. I couldn't move. She was drilling into my, _through_ my vessel's eye."

Dean made a sound of protest, without moving his lips. Henry felt sick.

"Oh my god," Sam breathed. "He kept blanking out on conversations. And he was bleeding from his eye, right after he stabbed Alfie."

"She must have had a direct connection to my mind," Castiel mused. "Perhaps even to my grace. I don't know how that's possible. I don't know how many times she's done this to me. Something she said made me think I've been there many times."

Dean turned away, his face crumpling. "Goddammit, Sammy. She was torturing him right in front of us, this whole fucking time! For weeks - months! And she's done it before? Is this what happened years ago, when they dragged him back to Bible Camp and left Jimmy holding the bag?"

Sam shook his head. "I don't know if it was the same thing. Michael was around back then - supposedly he could have controlled Cas directly, without all this crazy stuff. And, when Cas came back after we met Jimmy, he was stiff but he wasn't having blackouts or crying blood, was he?"

"But then, what, we locked up the archangels and now this Naomi bitch is free to torture whoever she wants?"

"Maybe Michael used to delegate the re-education stuff to her, keep her in line a little, but now she's the one giving the orders?"

"I got no idea who's in charge up there these days. Maybe it is her, and she's working with what she already knows how to do. What she's been doing for who knows how long. Aw shit, Sam - remember Anna? Did they do this to Anna? No wonder she went frickin' nuts."

"Gentlemen, focus," Henry murmured. He nodded to where the angel was watching them anxiously. "I think he needs to see you, Dean. He needs to know you're all right."

"Yeah. Yeah." Dean wiped a hand down his face quickly and turned back to Castiel with a strained smile. "Take it easy, Cas. We're good."

Castiel's gaze flickered uncertainly among all three of them. "You must keep me restrained. I will try not to let my ears heal, but..."

"Should we put him to sleep again?" Dean held up the feather from his pocket, glancing around at Henry.

"I have a better idea," said Sam, and quickly wrote: _Should we draw more sigils on you?_ before holding the notebook up to Castiel.

"Sigils?" the angel looked puzzled.

"Do we have a mirror?" Henry asked. "I suppose it's safe to open the door, we could go get one..."

"Nah, it's okay, we can use my phone. Better because it doesn't reverse everything." Sam held his computing device sideways, directed it at Castiel, and it made a strange whining click. An image of Castiel appeared, with all the markings Henry had drawn. Sam showed it to the angel.

"Be sure to show him the one on the back of his neck as well," Henry murmured, bemused.

"Oh," said Castiel, studying the pictures. "That's very clever. But you could do more. I'll show -" He shifted his arms and came up short against the cuffs. "I guess I won't show you."

Henry said, "Dean, there's a chain in the cabinet..."

Dean got the chain, which they wrapped around Castiel's upper arms to keep him in the chair, and then they undid the cuffs so they could bring his hands around to the front. It wasn't perfect, but even Castiel agreed it was acceptable once they had re-fastened the cuffs. He studied the engravings on the metal with interest.

"Cas," said Sam. "Sigils?" He tapped the earlier question in the notebook.

"Oh, yes. Here..." Castiel handled the pen awkwardly with his bound hands. "Draw this just in front of and just behind my ears. And this one on each eyelid." He frowned at the page. "It's not right. Such things should not have been done to me, or to any angel." He looked up at Dean pleadingly. "Is this what I've made of Heaven?"

Dean leaned forward, almost touching his forehead to the angel's. "Aw, Cas, man - no. Just no. This is so not your fault."

Sam was scribbling frantically. Henry saw: _Heaven was messed up even under Michael's command. Now they have free will but they don't know what to do with it. So it's chaotic, but they can learn. They WILL learn. You can help them learn._

Castiel read the message and nodded glumly, looking defeated. Sam patted his shoulder consolingly.

Dean picked up the marker pen which worked so well on skin and gestured to Sam to hold the notebook for reference. He drew meticulously with a steady hand while Castiel watched his every move. When Dean wrote on the angel's eyelids, he merely held one closed at a time rather than telling him to shut both eyes. Castiel didn't seem perturbed to be bound in a chair with Dean aiming a pen at his eyes, but afterward, both Sam and Dean turned away to conceal their distress from the angel.

Henry took the notebook himself when Dean was finished. After studying the sigils with interest, he wrote: _Is it possible the connection is still there and you can't sense it?_

Castiel read the message, and his eyes when he looked up were hooded with worry. "I don't know. I don't understand how any of this is possible." But a moment later he shook his head. "No. The compulsion to kill Dean is gone. I felt it break. That must mean the connection is gone as well. Doesn't it?"

They all looked at each other.

"I think it's safe, but... keep the chains," Castiel concluded. "And the - whatever you put in my ears. And check to make sure the ink isn't wearing off. Check it often."

"No, you know what? Fuck that," Dean spat. "Look at me, Cas." He took the angel by the chin and pointed with two fingers from Castiel's eyes to his own. They were only inches apart, but Castiel met Dean's gaze searchingly, with a small vertical line of worry between his brows.

"That's him," Dean said at last, straightening. "Same as he was in Purgatory."

"You're sure?" Sam asked.

Dean nodded. "Nobody else in there. He's good. I'd stake my - well, I'm gonna, so there." He started unlooping the chains from Castiel's shoulders.

"Dean, no," the angel objected. Dean just patted his shoulder and reached for the notebook.

 _Safe if you stay in this room._ Then he added: _Does it hurt?_ and tapped his own ear when he showed the message.

"The discomfort is manageable," Castiel answered. "Far preferable to going back to that place. But, Dean, are you sure?"

Dean nodded.

"Will you leave the cuffs on?"

Dean rolled his eyes, a treatment apparently not reserved for Henry. "Okay. Fine. If you want."

"This is good, right? He's stable," said Sam. "So I think we need a plan. Just for the short term. We're going to be staying here, right? At least a few days?"

"If someone must keep an eye on Castiel at all times, we'll need to arrange shifts," Henry pointed out.

"And we need supplies," Sam added. "Food. Maybe water too - the pipes here are pretty old. Some cement mix, 'cause we still have to deal with Abaddon. And did you notice there's no pillows on the beds?"

"Get me some pie," said Dean shortly.

Unexpectedly, Castiel chuckled. They all turned to find a fond half-smile on his face. Nothing extravagant, but a far cry from the tense, nearly expressionless angel Henry had first encountered.

"I saw that," said Castiel, nodding to Dean. "If you're asking for pie you must be feeling better."

Dean just shook his head in exasperation. "Long as _you're_ feeling better, man." He looked at Henry. "So I guess we're going to be waiting here a while. You still got that deck of cards?"

They brought in another chair for Dean to use, and a small table for playing cards. The notebook sat by Dean's elbow for communication, and then they left him alone with the angel.

* * *

"This is why Dean was so tense the last few days, isn't it?" Henry asked while Sam was driving them to the nearest town for supplies. "Because he was concerned about Castiel?"

"We were both worried. But yeah, with Dean it generally comes out as anger."

"I thought he was just... a thug," Henry concluded.

"Oh, he can be sometimes. That's just not _all_ he is." Sam sighed. "You gotta understand, Henry, the lives we lead... we spend a lot of time worrying like that. And Dean spends a lot of time being angry. I do too. But not always. We got Cas back now, so I hope things will be better, at least for a while."

Henry asked more questions, and the drive passed with an appalling tale about things that could go wrong with a seraph: war with an archangel, possession (and disintegration) by ancient Leviathans, then mysterious resurrection followed by a form of insanity that fortunately sounded non-violent, since a crazy angel was an alarming thing to contemplate. Sam finished up with what he had learned about Purgatory from Dean, and after Purgatory had come the brainwashing by Heaven. It sounded as though having Castiel around, sane but effectively deaf and with limited powers, would still be an improvement over some of their history. And this was evidently only a portion of what Dean had said was too complicated to recount. Henry resolved to get his grandsons to write down everything, especially the events surrounding the Apocalypse.

When Henry and Sam got back to the bunker with food and other supplies, the card table had been pushed to the side and Dean was bent over Castiel, who sprawled shirtless in the chair. Dean was bending very close over Castiel, and Castiel's bound hands were clutching at Dean's shirt.

Henry froze in the doorway, shocked. Sam grabbed him by the shoulder, pulled him back to the file room and scowled ferociously at him, then made a point of scuffing his feet and thumping the door as they went in again.

Dean stood, marker in hand, a line of symbols half-completed across Castiel's chest. "Oh, hey Sam, Henry," he said casually, but he didn't meet their eyes. "Cas gave me a bunch more sigils, to go over his heart." He wiped his mouth and glanced quickly at Castiel, then away.

"Uh-huh." Sam looked down at the pile of trenchcoat, suit jacket, and shirt tossed haphazardly to the side, all capable of opening in the front without being removed.

"And some more between his shoulder blades, too." Dean gestured to the notebook at his feet. 

"Okay," was all Sam said. He set the bag down on the table. "Got you a couple sandwiches - one meatball which is getting cold, and one roast beef. I assume Cas doesn't need to eat, but he might want a little, or you can just pig out yourself."

"Pie?"

"They don't sell pie. I got you a cookie. Why don't you, uh, finish up drawing those symbols, and we'll check in again later, okay? Just yell if you need a bathroom break or whatever."

Dean nodded, rubbing the back of his neck. Castiel was watching the exchange with a worried frown. Then Dean's eyes drifted helplessly toward the angel, and his mouth twitched in a small smile. Castiel's frown eased into something soft and shy.

Sam's own smile was much broader. "Hey, Cas, you hang in there, okay? We'll figure this all out." He patted the angel on one bare shoulder.

Henry got out, "Were you -" before Sam grabbed him hard by the elbow and hauled him out of the room.

"Sam," Henry hissed as he was hustled out into the hallway, "was your brother actually -" His breath whuffed out when Sam shoved him against the wall and loomed emphatically.

"Listen to me," Sam said in a low, threatening tone. "Whatever's going on in there has been _years_ in the making. Dean needs it, and Cas sure as hell deserves it. And they probably won't have a lot of time before the next crisis comes up and ruins everything. So if you try and pull some kind of mid-twentieth-century morality trip on them, I _will_ go all alpha-male-monkey on your ass. You got that?"

Henry stared, thinking he was never going to understand either of his grandsons. Just when he thought he knew which was the sensible one, all his notions were overturned. "But... with an angel? Is that, is that even..."

"Winchesters. We make our own rules. And sure as hell no one else can keep up with us." Sam eased his grip as Henry showed only bafflement rather than outrage. "So... Dean and Cas will work it out however they need to, and we're gonna stay out of their way, all right?" 

Henry nodded weakly. "This is your time. And your brother, and your... friend. I don't imagine I have much say in it."

"Good. Now come on, we have research to do on how Heaven controls angels."

Henry trailed behind Sam to the library, where their own sandwiches awaited them. He was apparently now the most senior of the Men of Letters, and the guardian of this repository of knowledge. And now he'd be using that ancient legacy to help his grandsons save an angel from the wrath of Heaven, which was not quite what he'd expected to be doing with his life. He remembered what Larry Ganem had told him, a week ago and fifty-five years ago: _Everything will change on the night of your initiation._

He had never guessed how true that would prove to be.


End file.
